


Found It In Silence

by Summerlin



Series: Redemption Arc [5]
Category: A Little Less Sixteen Candles a Little More "Touch Me" - Fall Out Boy (Song), Bandom, Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: A Little Less Sixteen Candles A Little More "Touch Me" (Video), Alternate Universe - A Little Less Sixteen Candles (Music Video), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Everyone Gets A Hug, Fix-It of Sorts, I'm letting them be happy, Post-Canon-Divergence?, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:35:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24869998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Summerlin/pseuds/Summerlin
Summary: Pete doesn’t know if it’s the thirst or he’s finally gone insane with grief when the scent hits him and he stumbles against the bar of the dining car. He’d calculated that it was just another hour to Minot, North Dakota, and he’d be able to feed in that generous 30-minute window at the train stop while they refuel. But this was insane. It draws him, that grounding scent of cedar, smothered in earth and stale oatmeal soap, is calling to him beyond the door of the observation car.or,(Pete is sure he's hallucinating when he finds his brothers on the Empire Builder en route to Seattle. He's overjoyed but they don't recognize him. It's killing him slowly.A fix-it of sorts.)
Relationships: Brendon Urie/Pete Wentz, Spencer Smith/Brendon Urie
Series: Redemption Arc [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/849381
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	Found It In Silence

**Author's Note:**

> I love these boys and I'm letting them have nice things.

Pete doesn’t know if it’s the thirst or he’s finally gone insane with grief when the scent hits him and he stumbles against the bar of the dining car. He’d calculated that it was just another hour to Minot, North Dakota, and he’d be able to feed in that generous 30-minute window at the train stop while they refuel. But this was insane. It draws him, that grounding scent of cedar, smothered in earth and stale oatmeal soap, is calling to him beyond the door of the observation car. 

He dismisses the concern of the attendant and steadies himself against the empty tables and booths, reaching for the door release and stumbling through now that it burns at his eyes. There’s no itch, no pull, but a steady pulse beats in his ears, resonating through his veins. At this point, Pete had dismissed that this wasn’t just the lingering scents on his borrowed clothes when he enters the lounge car. He zeroes on the feet propped up against the plexiglass. The laces on the boots are undone, thick socks pulled up over the worn jeans. He sees the sharp jut of the elbow and the coloring of a tattoo, but Pete trusts his instincts. They’ve never failed him, and he was done with enough tricks for several lifetimes. As he rounds the back of the recliner, the last shred of doubt fled like bat out of hell when the scent is coming from the familiar shag of black hair. He clutches the phone in his hand as he snores, tattooed arm draped over his head. 

“Brendon...” It just slips out of Pete’s mouth. His limbs thrum with adrenaline, and he really doesn’t mean to reach out but his brain is 20 steps behind his body when his fingers come in contact with his arm, and he almost gasps at the warmth radiating off of him. The man flinches, recoiling with a grunt before he’s blinking up at Pete and those eyes are so fucking brown. 

Anger flashes briefly and then the confusion hits. “Dude, you’re way too fucking close.” He sits up, trying to squeeze past this guy with no regard for personal space. The back light of his phone illuminates that sharp planes of his face as he checks the time and scrubs a hand over his mouth, and Pete just can’t understand why he isn’t being acknowledged. Pete keens at the warm falsetto of his voice, feeding on it and wanting more. 

When he reaches again for the man’s shoulder, he jerks away. Brown eyes are narrowed in anger. There’s a fire in them. Pete remembers. He’s sure. He’s so fucking sure. “Brendon...y-you’re...” 

He only gets venom in return. “Excuse me? Back the fuck up.” the man spits, but the acknowledgment is there. He must be mute as Pete advances, reaching out again, but his hand is smacked away. The fear registers in his eyes now, stumbling back against the café's counters and gripping for purchase as Pete advances. His pulse pounds a frantic rhythm in Pete’s ears, a blush creeping up his neck, and Pete wants nothing more than to hold him, reassure him, but all boundaries are lost on him as the man hurries toward the door, pressing the release with trembling hands. 

But Pete can’t understand why Brendon is running from him, looking at him like he’s prey and caught in the open. Doesn’t he know him? Doesn’t he know Pete would never lay a hand on him? His body follows as his mind trails behind, caught in the maelstrom of confusion and excitement at the sight of the man that he knows is his brother but...isn’t... 

He throws glances back at Pete as he picks up his pace through the rows of coach seats, making a beeline for the sleeping cars. Pete reaches again, catching the tips of his fingers before they’re snatched away and the look of anguish on the man’s face cuts deep, stabbing at Pete’s gut. “Bren...it’s Pete!” The hurt is stark in his voice, pleading, but the need and want is overwhelming. He can’t think straight. He doesn’t want to. 

“I don’t know you!” the man growls, but Pete can see through it, hear the panic in his voice and the thrumming beat of his heart. Sweat beads at the nape of his neck now, rushing through the door to the sleeping car and darts to the third door on the right. Brendon’s breath comes out in short puffs as he hyperventilates, beating on the aluminum door with hurried glances to Pete. His long hair is matted against his forehead, shirt clinging to his shoulders. 

The door slides open when the lock clicks and then Pete is met with Spencer’s blue eyes. Brendon rushes inside, collapsing on the seat and gripping the fabric to try and pull himself together. Pete’s instinct to protect is almost overwhelming, but Spencer blocks his path with one glance at Brendon. He’s met with the steely glare, and for a moment Pete brushes it off because it’s not like he hasn’t been on the receiving end of it before. But Brendon is in the cabin trying to explain and it’s coming out in broken, terrified whines, and it turns Spencer’s glare almost murderous with words of “stalking” and “too close” and “can’t breathe.” 

“I’m giving you to the count of three to get the fuck out of here.” Spencer grits through his teeth, jaw set. Pete finally blinks and gets his bearings, flinching under the scalding hate in Spencer’s eyes. 

Pete wets his lips, swallowing thickly because this can’t be happening. This can’t be real. “Spence. Spence, it’s me.” 

“One.” Pete catches himself studying the small imperfections on Spencer’s face: the laugh lines, discolorations of freckles, stray whisps of gray in his hair and beard. Spencer’s eyes grow colder and Pete takes a wary step back now as Spencer advances in warning. He steals a glance back at Brendon pressed against the seat, clenching his eyes shut and trying in vain to count to ten. 

“Spence…c’mon…” 

“Two.” Brendon reaches for Spencer’s arm, clutching his sleeve and tugging him inside, and Spencer’s seething now. The sharp spice of anger drenches him, and Pete’s instincts have him backing up, not wanting to challenge his brother. Spencer towers over him, squaring his shoulders. ”Stay away from us.” he growls. 

The door slams shut behind him with a click of the lock and draws the curtain. Pete can still make out the strangled whines of Brendon’s panic attack, breaths coming out short and quick, stabbing at Pete’s heart. They never corrected him. Their scents linger in the corridor, taunting him, and the idea cements itself in his brain. 

Chase them. 

\- 

Pete spots them again in the dining car the following evening as soon as the sun set. He should know better than to go this long without feeding, but he ignores the burn in his throat and the pull to that pulse just a thin layer of skin away. He looks like shit, he knows, but he tries to rein it in and not scare them any more than he already has. Brendon spots him first and ducks his head behind the mug of coffee he was nursing, looking smaller in the shearling jacket and hair flopping over his glasses. 

_Jesus, he’s still here, Spence_ , Pete hears. He tries not to smirk, orders a scotch neat from the bar and doesn’t look at the large bill he stuffs in the tip jar when he takes the pathetic plastic tumbler. The burn of the liquor could hold him off for a while. Spencer tosses a steely glare over his shoulder and it’s piercing enough to give Pete pause, but he can’t help himself. The small, human part of his soul is screaming not to let this monumental twist of fate fade away. He needs to take it. Brendon almost turns away, hiding his nose in the mug when Pete approaches their table. Spencer’s glare is drilling a hole through his forehead. 

“I’m sorry for last night.” he finally says. Brendon watches him carefully from the corner of his eye as Spencer stares at him with a calculated gaze. “It was late and...I guess no amount of excuses will help.” 

“Your actions were fucking psychotic.” Spencer bites. 

Pete can’t help but nod. “They were. You look like someone I once knew. Both of you. Maybe I could buy you guys a drink as an apology?” 

Spencer’s lips form a tense line, staring Pete down. “I don’t drink.” His words are cold, but it’s Brendon that perks up then, lowering his guard as he sets the mug down beside the aftermath of what Pete can only guess was once a plate of chicken fajitas. 

“I do.” Brendon says, soft but resolute even as Spencer’s glare is now turned on him. He doesn’t fold. “I want whatever they have on the top shelf. That should be enough of an apology. Please don’t put anything in it.” 

“I’ll get it.” Spencer slides out from the booth and he still towers over Pete, sizing him up, but Pete offers him a bill from his pocket. He won’t give Spencer the satisfaction of just disappearing, despite that Pete had loved his persistence once upon a time. Spencer takes the cash and squeezes past him to the bar. Pete wears a smug grin at the small victory and swirls the cup to let the scotch breathe, taking a seat at the opposite booth. Brendon looks him over with an apprehensive but child-like curiosity. Pete catches the look of concern Brendon throws at him at his ashen pallor, sunken eyes, and cracked lips, but Pete only grins at this sliver of acceptance he’s been granted. 

“Spencer’s getting me the drink. I’m Brendon. Where are you headed?” he asks, wetting his lips tentatively. Now that Pete really studies him, it looks like Brendon didn’t really sleep either. His pulse had been erratic all night. 

“Pete.” he offers cordially. “The end of the line is Anchorage for me but I'm not in a hurry to get there. My next connection is in Seattle to Vancouver.” 

Brendon perks slightly. “Alaska? You headed to Denali?” Pete nods. Brendon breaks into a smirk as Spencer returns with a plastic tumbler of whiskey, sliding it across the table to Brendon once he sits. “Spence, he’s going to Denali.” 

“Good for him.” Spencer spits, picking at the remnants of his meal. 

“Denali is on our bucket list to hike. We won’t get there this year but maybe next time.” There’s excitement in Brendon’s voice. “We’ll settle for Mount Olympus. That’s the last one for us this season. Cheers.” He raises his cup in tandem with Pete before taking a sip, hissing in pain when Spencer kicks him under the table. 

Pete takes a careful sip from his cup, catching the silent conversation they’re having. If only he could read minds. “What’s keeping you from going to Denali?” 

“What keeps a lot of people from pursuing things? Money, dude.” Brendon is candid as he takes another sip of whiskey, and Pete sees the way their legs brush under the table, the way Brendon relaxes when he looks at Spencer for confirmation. There’s something there. He’s going to keep digging. He’ll chip away at this until he finds what he knows is there. Gently, he’s learned. “Time, commitments.” Brendon pauses, restraining something on the tip of his tongue and Spencer shoots him a knowing look. Spencer shakes his head and it’s so subtle that Pete is almost sure he’s hallucinating. 

“So, usual human restrictions.” Pete nods and takes another sip, studying the disheveled patterns of Spencer’s failed attempt to comb his hair, the calloused fingertips as he grips his fork a little too firmly. And Spencer can feel the eyes on him, growing irritated with each passing second. 

“And why are you going? Are you dying of cancer or something?” Spencer asks, and the venom in his tone isn’t missed. He’s still protective of Brendon. Pete can see some semblance of his brother underneath those layers. 

Keep digging. 

Pete lets his shoulders drop, picking a piece of lint from his knit sweater. “No, but I should probably take my meds soon. I know I look terrible.” Spencer nods then, looking Pete over. “I lost some people very close to me and I’m looking for closure.” 

A look of what Pete can identify as sympathy washes over Brendon’s face, and if it weren’t for the telltale scent, Pete could’ve sworn it was pain. Brendon stares at his hands tracing the rim of his cup. “That sucks that the trip can’t just be for you to enjoy. Did they go peacefully at least?” 

“There was a fire. “Pete says bluntly, watching the way both of their shoulders draw in, the distant looks on their faces. “Are your commitments set in stone?” he asks, hating the way Spencer’s jaw clenches. “Is it work? Girlfriend? A dog?” 

Spencer finally shakes his head, sinking against the back of the seat. “Typical 8-hour workdays. A clean apartment.” 

Pete grins around the rim of his cup. “You’ve got to make sacrifices for your budget. Time is cruel that way. If you had the money, how far would you go?” 

Brendon clears his throat then, looking to Spencer for confirmation. “If we could handle the altitude, we’d be crazy enough to climb Denali, right, Spence?” Spencer gives them both a piercing glare, irritated. 

“I’d be happy to fund the rest of your trip. Not everyone gets that opportunity.” Pete says it like he’s offering another drink, but Brendon now stares at him like he was the second coming of Christ. 

Brendon’s mouth tries to form words, but it’s Spencer that stops him, sitting up and squaring his shoulders. “Just who the fuck are you anyway? Coming here, scaring the shit out of him, and then out of the blue you’re throwing money at us?” 

Brendon is stricken, brows pinching as he kicks Spencer’s leg under the table. He looks to be forming an apology, but Pete only shrugs. “Sure, I have money, more than I know what to do with. I still feel shitty about last night, and this can be a final apology if it’ll make you feel better. A couple of extra ferry tickets are nothing and I’ve got a cabin rented up in Anchorage for a few weeks. I wouldn’t mind if you crashed in the extra bedroom. I mostly keep to myself anyway.” 

“No.” Spencer grates, setting his jaw. “We’re not a charity case.” 

Pete sits back against the booth, hitching a ride on Brendon’s train of thought and the blank expression on his face. “Like I said, you can take it as an apology. I just see it as an opportunity that shouldn’t be wasted.” 

Pete’s intrigued by the silent argument that ensues and the frantic rhythm of Brendon’s pulse. He can see, underneath these new and frustrating layers, glimpses of his brothers. Chip away at those walls. 

Brendon glares daggers at Spencer from across the table, tossing back the rest of his cup. Spencer turns toward the window, but Pete doesn’t miss the way his fists clench on his knees, knuckles going white. “What would you need from us, if we take you up on your offer?” 

Pete drinks up this small victory. “Meet me on the platform when we pull into Seattle. You only need to take what you brought with you. I’ll handle the rest.” He ignores the burn as he swallows the rest of the scotch. Brendon studies him carefully as he stands. “Sometimes fate has a funny way of reaching out and gives you an opportunity that you could only dream of. I hope to see you there.” 

Brendon’s hand reaches for Pete's wrist, recoiling the moment he makes contact. “You...you’re not a train car serial killer, are you? Or some kind of hardcore bondage human trafficker?” Brendon’s eyes are searching, and Pete is having trouble remembering a time when they were this clear and eager. 

He only offers him a smug grin. “I hope I’ll see you tomorrow. Have a good rest of your night, guys.” 

When the train pulls into King Street Station late into the afternoon, Pete hides in the shade of the platform cover, tugging on the hood of his jacket that’s pulled over his prized Chicago Bulls hat. As he taps out a reply to Joe’s text, two heartbeats draw closer. He pockets his phone and peeks over the rim of his sunglasses. They may be bleary-eyed, but Brendon and Spencer showed on time. There’s distance between them, but that doesn’t stop Spencer’s biting insults. 

“For a rich guy, you sure dress like shit.” he quips. Pete tries not to smile too wide and waves them to the ticket kiosk in the shade. 

“I prefer comfort over style nowadays. I have no one to try and impress.” 

Spencer grimaces but flanks Brendon as he approaches. When their tickets to the Cascades connection print, they board and Pete makes a beeline for his roomette, drawing the curtains to catch a nap before dinner service. The humans share bewildered looks when he joins them but only orders another scotch neat, ignoring the menu altogether. The subtle hints and anecdotes he shares about California fall on deaf ears, and he settles for working around the information they feed him as they dig into their garden salads and herbed cod. 

Pete laments at Brendon’s horror stories of his gig as a barista and jokes at his own expense at the number of orders he’s messed up by adding 2% milk instead of almond. The light in Spencer’s eyes briefly dies as he vaguely describes his duties as an administrative assistant, and it makes Pete want to personally fight the powers that be for dumping them in the social black hole that is St. George, Utah. Brendon tires to show an interest in Pete’s travels, even if it’s some masked form of gratitude for funding their trip. Spencer remains the sentinel that he is, studying Pete like he was a venomous snake. 

He bids them goodnight when Brendon’s eyes linger on him a little too long and their pulses pound in his ears. This is a short leg of their trip, but now Pete is kicking himself for not feeding at the last long stop in Spokane. For now, he relishes their company. He checks that his cabin door is locked and the curtains stay closed. There’s hope, and he can hold off the thirst for a little longer if it means they’ll follow him. 

\- 

Pete’s composure was slipping further, complex thoughts blurring out of focus as the thirst now demanded his attention. He rushes off of the train, almost throwing his jacket and duffel at Brendon with a mumbled promise that he desperately needed a bathroom, that he won’t take long and he’ll be right back. The guilt he should be feeling for attacking the baggage attendant feels so far away but the heady taste as he drinks settles the beast in him, relief flooding his veins. 

The heartbeat that Pete is sure doesn’t belong to the one that should’ve stopped in his arms thrums heavy in his ears, head snapping to the source. Brendon stares at him in horror, clutching Pete’s jacket in his fist, and that horror evolves into terror at the sight of the thick smear of blood on Pete’s chin, hand still pressing the corpse against the wall. 

And then he bolts, dropping Pete’s jacket against the asphalt as he takes off toward the parking lot, but Pete is faster and more lucid after a meal. It takes little effort to intercept Brendon’s path to Spencer waiting by the taxi drop-off, and he collides with Pete’s torso, stumbling back against a car with a painful smack. Brendon’s scream is muffled by Pete’s icy hand. He knows he looks insane and he hadn’t had time to clean himself up. He shouldn’t be angry at Brendon’s curiosity either, but he wasn’t prepared for the hot knife of guilt that was the realization that Brendon was terrified of him. “Brendon, please.” he tries to soothe. “I’m not going to hurt you. I could never...” And Brendon is still squirming, still trembling, still shouting under Pete’s palm. It kills him and he can’t stand it any longer as he backs away and throws his hands up in resignation as Brendon screams for Spencer. Pete still blocks his path and Brendon cowers against the parked pick-up. 

Pete is only counting the seconds that tick by achingly slow before Spencer arrives, barreling toward them with a wild look in his eye. Pete turns to look at him as he licks away the excess from his chin because waste not, and he almost regrets it because Spencer now looks downright hostile, murderous. 

“H-He fucking killed a dude!” Brendon’s voice breaks and that’s just another hot knife in Pete’s chest. “He just fucking killed someone! I saw him!” 

Pete steps aside to let Spencer by and Brendon’s almost hysterical. Pete wants to retreat so badly but he’s also the most stubborn person in the world. He stands firm, but folds his arms, trying to look smaller for his brothers. 

“Calm the fuck down, Bren. Breathe.” Spencer’s hand is splayed over Brendon’s chest as he starts to hyperventilate, clutching Spencer’s sleeves as he tries to form a coherent sentence. 

“His neck was ripped open! H-He's a fucking vampire!” Brendon shrieks, pointing an accusing finger at Pete. 

Spencer struggles to find a retort, glancing back at Pete as his brows knit with confusion. “That was a joke, Bren, and it’s not funny anymore.” 

The fear in Brendon’s eyes is suffocating him. He can’t stand it anymore. 

Fuck. 

“I was starving.” Pete admits, and his tone is so dry that Spencer’s head snaps back to him. “Feeding on the train would’ve been way too obvious. I like to take my time but when you’re in a bind like that and pressed for time, I've been a lot quicker.” 

“This isn’t funny.” Spencer snaps. Pete almost smiles at the way he’s put himself between him and Brendon. 

Keep digging. 

“And I'm not laughing. He knows what he saw and I’m not going to hide myself from you.” Pete bares his teeth then, letting out a hiss but it’s empty. Spencer’s eyes grow wide as Brendon cowers behind him, but he’s still defiant, holding his ground. Pete’s chest aches. _Atta_ _boy._

“Bullshit. Those fangs are fake.” Spencer growls, but his voice waivers. 

Pete only shrugs, advancing a few steps as Spencer braces himself against Brendon. “I’m not going to perform circus tricks for you and I’m not here hurt you.” He steps into Spencer’s space until Pete can breathe him in. The spice of anger is almost a comfort. “I can go another few days before I need to feed again and the last thing I’d want is to harm either of you. The sun rises in a couple hours and I’d like to be at the cabin before then. My offer still stands. Denali is still waiting for you.” 

There’s a beat before he steps back and turns to head toward the drop-off, hoping Brendon didn’t have the audacity to dump his bags somewhere out of his way. Pete didn’t feel like pursuing a random thief this late in his pilgrimage. 

Valuable minutes pass and Pete is growing restless, feeling the inevitable pull of the sunrise, before they emerge from the rows of cars. Brendon is still trembling, collar pulled up and arms folded protectively as he flanks Spencer. He signals for the Lyft driver that had been waiting idly by the curb to load the bags into the back of the SUV. He tells himself he shouldn’t be offended by the distance that is now between them and that they’d find out eventually. Pete was only hoping to break it to them a little more gently. 

Spencer still wears that mask of defiance, but Pete sees through it in the way he curls against Brendon and as far away from Pete as possible in the back seat. The drive is in a tense silence until they pull up to the cabin. Pete can feel the heat of the sunrise on his skin as the sky glows from purple to a bright pink. He tips the driver and hastily snatches his bags from the trunk, making a beeline for the front door and unlocking it with shaking hands. He rushes to shut the curtains at every window and hopes the smell of singed flesh doesn’t linger in the hall when he wasn’t fast enough to hide away in the back en suite. The din of boots against the doormat give him some comfort that his brothers followed him inside. 

Through the fickle bouts of sleep Pete finally gets, the two heartbeats are always thrumming in the white noise of the house. Their voices carry, drifting through the drone of the cabin’s furnace and clanking of pots in the kitchen. Despite the fits and starts, it’s the best sleep Pete’s had in weeks. Something in his chest settles at the fact that his brothers followed him, even if they don’t exactly remember who he is. 

He unlocks the door an emerges from his suite freshly showered and still a bit drowsy, peeking through the curtains to confirm the burnt orange of the sunset in the window. He sees their silhouettes at the fire pit, overlooking the private inlet to the bay and the massive peaks beyond. He announces his presence with a soft kick against the backdoor, shrugging off the awkwardness of such an obnoxious gesture as they both turn to watch him. He’d prefer that to screaming and running. 

Pete maintains a distance between them when he perches on the flagstone alcove. “Did you guys find something to eat? I think there’s still time to order a pizza.” he says, and he ignores the way Brendon can’t look him in the eye. 

“What’s your deal?” Spencer cuts, and Pete is almost offended by the ice in his voice. “Why did you pick us?” 

Brendon shifts uncomfortably on the lounger, hiding under the bulk of his parka. Pete shoves down the urge to pull him out of it and hug him so hard he’ll see stars. He sighs. “I didn’t force you to be here with me. You could’ve refused at any point, but you didn’t, and I can’t speak for you on your reasons why.” He cards a hand through his hair and gives himself a small bit of recognition that he’s improved on articulating his feelings. “I lost my brothers in a fire. They were like me. They’d lost themselves and were burned alive. I was traveling to find closure and the last stop was here in Anchorage. I wasn’t lying when I said you look like someone I used to know and right now I think the powers that be are playing some kind of cruel trick because...you were my brothers. Both of you.” 

Brendon sinks further against the lounger, his expression something distant, unreadable, but Spencer leans closer, stoking the fire. “How long ago was this?” 

“A few years ago. It doesn’t feel that long but time is irrelevant when you’re not really human.” Pete says, watching his shoe scuff against the stone. 

“So, if we’re these brothers you’re so sure about, you aren’t going to eat us.” It’s a statement set in stone and Pete feeds that ache in his chest at Spencer’s familiar candidness. 

“That’s only if you asked, like you asked me to burn you.” Pete answers. Spencer’s gaze is somewhere far away as Brendon pushes himself to his feet. 

“We’re not your brothers.” Brendon seethes, and when Spencer doesn’t acknowledge him, turns swiftly on his heel and almost slams the back door on his way inside. 

It cuts deep, and Pete focuses on that pain, catalogues and files it away. There’s a long moment before the light in Spencer’s eyes returns and he looks up at Pete with a new resolve. “Will you show me?” he asks. 

It’s an ambiguous question but Pete doesn’t fight it when he agrees and Spencer follows him to the outskirts of town. Spencer doesn’t flinch when Pete compels his meal and feeds. He doesn’t blink when Pete hides the body and licks his lips clean. Pete doesn’t shy away from Spencer’s barrage of questions as he steers the cart through the small market, doesn’t bat an eye as he describes the house left to him in LA, carrying the bags of groceries back to the cabin and stocking the fridge. Pete divulges every detail and Spencer only listens, absorbs it all with reserved nods. Pete invites him to the back suite and powers up his laptop. There’s only a moment’s hesitation at the possibility that he might be overwhelming Spencer and the photos saved on his secure cloud would drive him to insanity. Pete has nothing left to lose. 

Spencer browses the photos and pdf copies of the messages Joe and Andy had saved from their phones. He finally closes the laptop, brows knit in concentration. “My earliest memory is being burned.” he says, almost a whisper. Something in Pete blooms. “I only remember what it felt like, but I don’t have any marks or scars. Brendon only spoke of it once. It hurts too much for him to ever bring it up.” He looks up, and Pete doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of seeing that icy blue. “Why did your brothers ask you to burn them?” 

Pete scrubs a hand over his face. The memory thrashes and claws at his brain, but he’ll divulge. He can’t refuse Spencer. “You lost yourselves. It...It’s a long story and difficult to explain. We had an understanding, and at one point, you showed an insane amount of restraint for the few minutes you were lucid. I knew it was a request. Both of you asked. I impaled both of you and burned you on the beach. There was barely anything left.” 

Spencer nods as he takes it in. “A stake to the heart doesn’t kill you?” Pete shakes his head. 

“It paralyzes. Burning or beheading will finish the job.” He doesn’t want to say how well they should know this. Talking about Brendon when he’s not in the room leaves a sour taste in Pete’s mouth. Spencer is civil when stands to leave. He doesn’t make any move to touch Pete, as much as Pete wants him to. He’s starved for it. “If you need me or have any questions, just knock. I’ll still answer even if the door is locked. I just don’t want to be torched in my sleep. It’s kind of rude.” 

At this, Spencer actually huffs out a laugh, but the grin lingers, and Pete will count that as a win. Spencer never once corrected him. 

Early in the morning, Pete purchases two hiking permits for the week. He’s thankful for the printer he finds in the makeshift office and sets the pages on the kitchen counter for them to find. 

\- 

It’s only a few hours until sunrise a couple of days later and Pete is satisfied at the fact that they haven’t ditched him in the middle of day. He sits at the bank of the bay, hands in his pockets as he listens to the crooning calls of loons drifting on the breeze. He pulls the down coat tighter around his shoulders and shuts his eyes at the soothing sound, letting his thoughts drift. If it came down to it, Pete’s sure he’d be content to die here. Joe and Andy would understand. 

The crunch of Spencer’s boots through the mulch and sand is unmistakable and Pete tilts his head in acknowledgment. It isn’t until the enduring silence pulls him back to the present and he turns give Spencer that small courtesy. But there’s something foreign in Spencer’s eyes, something barely restrained. Pete flinches when Spencer rushes at him, but he doesn’t run. Spencer’s arms tremble as they loop around Pete’s neck. It’s been a long time since anyone has hugged him and Pete was sure he’d forgotten the sensation. Spencer lets out a choked cry before Pete’s brain catches up with him and he’s embracing Spencer gentle enough not to crush his ribs. He still has a pulse. 

Spencer’s hand cradles the nape of Pete’s neck and the gesture is so intimate that Pete almost recoils if it weren’t for Spencer’s unrelenting grip. A pathetic sound escapes his throat and Spencer pulls back enough for Pete to see the hot tears streaming down his cheeks, but his smile is so fucking blinding. “You did what we asked.” Spencer finally says. He bites his lip with those blunt teeth and sucks in another breath to regain his composure. “It was so hard for you but you did what we asked and I’d forgotten. I’m sorry, Pete.” The incomprehension must be obvious on Pete’s face when Spencer presses again. “I called you...emotionally constipated.” 

There’s a switch in Pete’s brain the turns on and a void in his chest is suddenly filled, almost overflowing. He feels so small in Spencer’s arms, and he offers a wry smile, flashing teeth. “How am I doing so far?” 

Spencer barks out a laugh and pulls him close again. “So much better. I’m proud of you.” The words almost burn, the way a hot towel would on a patch of frostbite. Pete begins to thaw just a bit more. Spencer doesn’t relent on the back-breaking grip he has on Pete, holding him as the minutes pass. He laments that he can’t smell Pete anymore, and it’s frustrating how his senses are dulled. Pete will take as much as he can get. 

“You’re up early.” Pete finally says, lingering in Spencer’s space and the human’s heart begins to settle its frantic rhythm. 

Spencer nods, busying at stray threads of his sleeve. “Thank you for the permits. We were wanting to get an early start into the park this morning. But you only bought two. You didn’t want to come with us?” 

Pete only scoffs. “As hilarious as it would be to see me hike with you covered head to toe, I’ll pass. And it's cute that you honestly think a lack of permit would stop me from getting into the park.” It earns him a smack on his shoulder but Pete drinks up the attention. “They’re just for you, and I don’t think you can keep up with me in your delicate condition, which is still a fucking mystery to me.” 

“It’s strange.” Spencer agrees. “Everything is slower. That can be fixed though. Easily.” 

Pete shakes his head. “That’s a serious conversation that shouldn’t be had this early in the morning. I’m thankful to have you back, even if you’re human and totally breakable. Enjoy it as much as you can.” Spencer nods, and Pete is suddenly fascinated by the puffs of vapor coming out with every breath. “How is he doing? Does he remember?” 

Spencer glances back at the cabin, chewing his lip. “No. He seems pretty bitter.” He watches Pete now, gaze soft, almost apologetic. “When you found us, I felt this tension and you felt familiar but I just didn’t know you. The last couple nights, it became unbearable and I let go, and it felt like a door opened that had been locked for so long.” 

Pete’s eyes fall and he takes more interest at his shoes rather than look Spencer in the eye again. “He’s still bitter...at me? Is he still scared of me?” 

“Yes, but I don’t think he knows where the fear is really coming from. He’s terrified at how you make him feel. And he’s so fucking stubborn.” Spencer nudges his shoulder. Pete melts a little. “We head out soon. I’ll try and see if I can get him to relax today.” 

Pete nods and doesn’t catch himself when he brushes his nose against Spencer’s shoulder to scent him, but he isn’t pushed away. Spencer hums appreciatively and gives Pete’s arm a gentle squeeze before he’s heading back to the cabin. “Pete,” Spencer calls back to him. Pete watches him over his shoulder, rubbing tiredly at his eye. “Thanks for not giving up on us. Family doesn’t quit.” 

Pete has to cover his mouth to stop the sob from clawing out of his throat. 

They return late into the evening smelling of sweat and protein bars and lingonberries. Pete can feel Brendon’s glare on him as he packs meatballs into tupperware containers. Spencer shakes his head in defeat but thanks Pete for the gesture and takes a couple of helpings to their room. Pete will keep digging. He isn’t alone now. 

The next couple of nights are similar when Pete gets a chance to see them, and there’s a slight limp in Spencer’s step that is dismissed as a mild case of muscle fatigue. He feeds farther from town, careful to cover his tracks and gives Brendon the courtesy of avoiding him altogether if what he’s causing Brendon to feel is pain. Spencer’s presence is the soothing balm he’s missed for years, grounding him when his thoughts start to run away from him. He’s reluctant to give details in emails to Joe and Andy on what exactly he’s found on his way to Alaska. He only asks Andy to check if there are leads on weird occurrences of reincarnation, no matter how sparse they may be. 

Spencer continues to insist that he not go into the park alone, that at least he has Spencer, but Pete lets Spencer’s eyes droop and shoos him to bed before he takes off for the park’s border while the moon is still high. His steps are light and swift in the snow as he climbs to the slopes of Denali. The lights of the climbing expedition camps seem remote, and he’s taken by their determination. When he lets his guard down and allows himself to be still, he stares up at the northern lights and his soul feels so light, letting himself be carried on the wind. When he returns, his determination is set in stone. He will not leave his brothers. He will not back down. 

Spencer suggests that he try showing Brendon all of the pictures saved to his cloud but it’s shot down immediately when Pete asserts that the last thing he wants is for Brendon to completely lose his mind again. For now, he waits. 

When the permits expire, they don’t leave. Pete offers to renew them before the season ends, as the days become shorter and the nights grow longer. Spencer is tentative but not opposed to the idea. Brendon wanders about the cabin, trying to avoid Pete despite his efforts to be a calm but persistent presence. He bristles at the sight of Pete and as each day passes, he grows more irritable. 

Then Spencer proposes Sitka. Brendon didn’t leave the ferry when it had pulled into port, almost terrified that he’d combust if he stepped off of the boarding ramp. Pete is taken by Spencer’s enthusiasm and almost bottomless stock of completely insane ideas from _Hit him with a hammer_ and _Pry his eyes open to look at the pictures_ and _I’ll hold him down while you turn him_. Pete appreciates this side of Spencer but if Pete knew anything about Brendon, he would claw and fight until he was dead. Pete sleeps on it, considers it some more after he feeds, and relents when Spencer’s waiting for him on the front porch and admits that Brendon is no longer speaking to him. 

Pete didn’t expect things to deteriorate so quickly. If Brendon is feeling trapped, the last thing Pete wants is to keep him here. He agrees. Three tickets are purchased for the seaplane flight to Sitka, and at the afternoon sunset, Spencer forces Brendon downstairs with their packed bags. Brendon looks sick. He doesn’t look at either of them when Spencer pushes him to the waiting Uber and sinks into seat, hunkering into the bulk of his parka. The worried glances Pete gives him are ignored, and once they board the plane, Spencer growls and forces him to eat a stick of string cheese. He sleeps for most of the flight. When he wakes on their final approach, Brendon is struck by another panic attack. Something stabs at Pete’s soul at the sight of Spencer restraining him, trying to help him breathe until he passes out on the tarmac. 

They’d only touched down 10 minutes prior and they’ve already drawn too much attention to themselves. He’s carried on Spencer’s shoulders to the taxi once Pete compels the pilot. The sharp line of Spencer’s lips has Pete agreeing that perhaps this was method was too blunt after all. As they drive to the lighthouse lodge, Pete forces himself to look at the memorial plaque in the village square. He doesn’t let his eyes linger on the general store for too long and tells himself that the new growth is what matters. Brendon is too focused on counting his fingers. 

Brendon bars himself in the master bedroom when they arrive at the lighthouse and it isn’t until Pete threatens to break down the door does he finally relent to allow Spencer inside. Pete settles in the cramped attic crawlspace. It’s not the worst place he’s ever slept, but it’s safe from the sun and he still has access to the shower. Spencer is curious about the pained look Pete and Brendon carry since they arrived, and though Pete says this was the furthest rental available from town, he admits it’s still too close. Spencer does his best to make light of the situation and praises Pete’s efforts. 

“If we were any closer to the boonies, we’d be in a cave.” Spencer muses, and Pete doesn’t have the energy to stifle his laugh. 

The screaming follows soon after. Pete remains vigilant at night, keeping watch on the locked bedroom door until Spencer emerges to heat the kettle for his fourth cup of tea that night, bleary-eyed and sluggish. His hair is greasy and matted. He doesn’t touch the stale pizza from the night before, instead leaning against the stove as he waits for the water to boil. 

“He needs to sleep.” Pete says, stealing a glance back at the bedroom door that Spencer left ajar. 

“He also needs to eat.” Spencer adds, voice rough. “The night terrors aren’t letting him rest. He’s resisting and... I-I don’t know what to do. He’s just letting himself waste away.” Spencer scrubs a hand over his face, but Pete can still see the fresh tears in the glow of the overhead light. When he pushes away from the stove, the bags under his eyes are enough to set Pete into gear. 

“I’ll watch him. Shower and take care of yourself for a while.” Pete’s eyes are pleading and despite Spencer’s sleep-deprived delirium, he relents. 

Pete can make out Brendon’s silhouette under the sheets. It isn’t until the water starts from the shower head that Pete musters the nerve to head toward the bedroom. He steals a glance at the bathroom door, satisfied at the steady drone of the water before sliding through the doorway. 

Brendon flinches when the bed dips. Pete folds his hands in his lap, and his heart breaks at Brendon’s sunken eyes peering at him from the head of the bed. He’s gaunt, and Pete can smell the fear and anger pouring off of him if the erratic rhythm of his heart wasn’t enough. Pete wonders why this isn’t killing him as much as it’s killing his brother. “I’ve missed you.” he says, voice strained. “I’ve missed you both and it isn’t fair for you to be the alone like this. It must be a nightmare.” 

The silence hangs heavy between them until Brendon finally shifts, throwing a piercing glare. He full on growls. “You’ve done something to Spencer. You’ve changed him.” 

“He woke up, Bren, just like you need to. I know it hurts.” Pete chews his lip as he watches Brendon shiver under the blanket. “I never thought I would see you again. This trip was supposed to be a new start for me and I was prepared to let you both go. I never planned to find you on the train. I’m cursed with knowing your scent too well. I’d know it anywhere and I was so hungry for it.” Pete pulls the chain out from under his shirt, rolling the polished ring between his fingers. “It’s painful enough for me to be here. I can’t imagine what it must be like for you when you can’t remember, but you won't be alone. I won’t leave you. I love you, Bren.” 

It almost looks like Brendon is trying to form words, but he settles for curling back up under the sheets. Pete snaps the chain from his neck and leans toward the nightstand. He doesn’t acknowledge the way Brendon recoils when he leaves the ring behind and makes a path to the door. “I hope you’re able to get some sleep.” he adds. “Don’t fight it anymore. There's nothing left to resist.” 

Spencer waits for him with a steaming mug cradled in his hands, hair damp from the shower. His face falls when Pete shakes his head in defeat. When Spencer returns to the bedroom, Pete is thankful for the silence that lasts through the morning. The episodes are less frequent, but through the following week, Pete’s resolve begins to break. 

\- 

Spencer finds Pete on the back landing, perched on the rail and facing the expanse of the sound. The breeze had picked up throughout the day in lieu of an approaching storm forming from the strait. He sways to the rhythmic bells of the buoys. The coffee in Spencer’s mug is potent, and Pete wrinkles his nose as he leans against the rail. “I’m going to force him to eat as many protein bars as it takes.” 

Pete can’t help but smile. “I don’t think we should subject him to this any longer. I hate being here as much as he does. This was supposed to be cathartic.” He scrubs a hand over his face. “And I’m keeping you both from your lives.” 

Spencer snorts into his mug. “I’m pretty sure we’ve been fired and evicted by now. We weren’t doing much before you showed up.” He ignores the pained look in Pete’s eyes. “You were the missing piece, Pete. We planned hiking trips in search of something we weren’t aware we were looking for. We were in limbo.” 

The sad smile Pete wears makes Spencer grimace, taking another swig of the bitter espresso. “You’re human, Spence. There are so many doors open to you.” Pete laments. 

“I’d endured so much that I almost forgot how to be human. And even if I were to go back and try to be a musician again, most of my contacts are retired by now. Brendon has nothing. He could probably work at another Starbucks, but he’d be on autopilot again. He can’t go back to that.” 

Pete picks at the flaking paint on the wooden rail. “I won’t leave him. I won’t leave you both, but...we can’t stay here. I don’t know how long he’ll last when he keeps fighting like this.” 

Spencer leans against his side, brushing his cheek against Pete’s sleeve. Pete purrs with approval. “How bad was it here?” Spencer asks. Pete tilts his head back to the lighthouse and the stretch of coastline leading back to town. 

“The whole village was wiped out. He drank his fill and killed the rest for sport. I remember the bodies.” Pete’s voice waivers for a moment before he swallows, clearing his throat. “I remember the blood was just...it was so much it made you sick and you can never unsee it. It’s incredible how much they’ve expanded, and even this lighthouse is new. But the memory will never fade. It’s like you ate something bad and no matter how hard you try, you can’t purge it.” 

“Trauma won’t snap him out of it. It was stupid of me to even think this was a good idea.” Spencer rubs the sleep from his eyes, but Pete can smell the salt from his tears. His grip is gentle as he holds Spencer’s wrist, lowering his hand. 

“You love him enough to try anything. We’ll keep trying, but we can’t stay here.” Spencer’s brows knit as he thinks, and Pete tilts his head at the silence. “Talk to me, Spence.” 

Spencer’s eyes are piercing, and Pete can feel that his mind is set. “He needs to feel comfortable to not resist. Take us home.” 

\- 

Pete is still reluctant until Spencer grabs his phone that night and books the next flight to Los Angeles. The storm batters the lighthouse the next day, but gives them ample time to pack the place up, and enough of a buffer to have Brendon showered and calm enough to move. His steps are slow and light now. He nods as Spencer assures him that they’re leaving but not where they’re headed. Brendon seems content just to ditch the place. Pete is more than happy to carry their bags in an almost comical pile in his arms, but if a bellboy is what he needs to be for his brothers he won’t hesitate. Brendon’s heart settles as soon as the ferry leaves port for Vancouver. Pete tries not to let his concern fester that though Brendon has not said a word for almost a week, he doesn’t resist when Spencer hands him various juices and snacks. He sleeps soundly on the flight into LAX, and finally stirs when the cabin doors open at the gate. 

Pete promises to make copies of the keys for the new locks he had installed when they pick up his Tesla from storage. Brendon is now alert, but his heartbeat is steady, eyes scanning the city lights and passing cars on the freeway from the backseat. Spencer throws him a hopeful glance at the prospect of progress. They pull into the driveway and let the gate shut behind them. As Pete collects their bags and packs from the trunk, Spencer comments at how much the security bushes have grown and the new coat of exterior paint. Pete beams at the compliment. Brendon pulls his jacket off and folds it up in his arms. “It’s warm out.” he says, voice rough from neglect, and Pete will absolutely take all he can get. 

Brendon doesn’t spare a second glance at the gallery wall of photos in the entryway, only lingering in the expanse of the kitchen and wall of windows overlooking the city. After Pete apologizes for the mess of files and documents littering the counter, he escorts them to the master bedroom. “I didn’t change much, and I still have most of your things in storage. Give me some time and I’ll move my stuff to the next bedroom.” he explains, and despite Spencer’s protest, Pete reminds him that this was their house. 

Pete excuses himself to feed before sunrise and upon his return, his brothers have retired to the master bedroom, taking comfort in the snores and scents bleeding out from under the door. Another piece of Pete’s soul settles as he migrates to the guestroom and he doesn’t bother hiding the grin on his face. 

Spencer joins him in a lengthy trip to Trader Joe’s to stock the long-neglected kitchen, and Brendon waits for them to return at the front door, almost pacing. He doesn’t reject their haul of organic snacks and produce, but Spencer promises that he’ll join them on the next trip. Brendon now sleeps soundly during the day, taking to their schedule almost instinctively. Pete finishes clearing out the master bedroom and drags the padlocked crate from the closet, almost throwing the key at Spencer after threatening to cut the lock off with bolt cutters. Brendon watches curiously from the hallway as Spencer digs through it, but he does not engage. Their scents begin to linger on the walls again and Pete is drunk with it, overjoyed that he doesn’t have to take hits from old shirts and jackets anymore. 

\- 

When Spencer begins to venture out in the evening, he returns drenched in the scent of resin and bar smoke, and Pete is amused with the kismet story he tells with his hands. Brendon putters around the house at his absence. He doesn’t initiate conversation with Pete, but he no longer runs at the first sign of him. Pete will take the companionable silence. A package arrives soon after addressed to Brendon. Spencer throws Pete a knowing glance as it’s opened. Brendon pulls out the new Nikon camera with a reverence, handling it like a newborn. He takes to it quickly, shooting various still-lifes around the house and backyard. He takes it on his evening jogs, and despite Pete’s anxiety toward the possibility that he’ll somehow drop off of the face of the earth, Spencer reminds him that Brendon isn’t a prisoner as he promptly returns to process the shots on the memory card. 

There are moments where the lens is turned on Pete. He tries to keep still for Brendon’s shot, and despite the silence, he holds Brendon’s attention. He watches Pete behind the tortoiseshell rims of his glasses, snapping the shutter when the light is right. 

On a late Thursday night, Pete curses himself for offering to take over Joe’s business expenses. He never bragged that he was good at math, but he only needed enough to get by with the everyday necessities, and this amount of arithmetic was enough to make a man homicidal. He cards his hands through his hair, lightly tugging on the strands as his phone chimes with Spencer’s text that he and Brendon will be home soon, and he sits back to breathe in humidity from the passing storm through the back door. 

The routine they’ve settled into is congenial, and Brendon is functioning. If they’re comfortable enough to stay, Pete can settle. 

He saves the spreadsheet and packs up the ledger as they kick off their shoes by the front door. Spencer nods and launches into a rant about their near-death experience of nearly being rear-ended on Wilshire as Brendon sticks the box of leftover pizza in the fridge. Pete smiles tiredly and nods as he listens, thanking Spencer for saving the car, but he feels the eyes on him. Pete waves Spencer away when he questions his sluggishness, pivoting to challenge Spencer to give Joe a call instead and surprise him. Spencer is still suspicious but leaves it. The familiarity of these roots should be a comfort by now, for something he’s craved for decades but is still just out of reach. 

Pete lingers on the back deck, working through his schedule to plan on the next free moment when he can feed. 

“Is it strange feeling domesticated like this?” Brendon asks, and Pete could swear he heard his neck snap as he turned around. Spencer stares from the hall, frozen on his way to the bedrooms. Brendon’s arms are crossed, guarded as he studies Pete behind his glasses. Shit, okay, that was directed at him. 

“Um...I stay busy. It’s not that bad.” Pete holds eye contact with Spencer for a moment of mild panic because Brendon has _that_ tone, almost taunting. 

“Even if Spencer’s gone, you don’t have to babysit me. I won’t run.” His pulse is steady. “You can go out and feed. You look thirsty.” Brendon advances, and this time it’s Pete’s turn to take a step back, bumping into the doorframe. Spencer follows, dropping Brendon’s camera bag and watching keenly. 

Pete swallows thickly. This is not the kind of attention he’d been asking for. “It’s manageable.” He flinches as Brendon brings a hand up to his neck, fingers brushing over the red splotch of his scar, but melts at the warmth. If Brendon’s completely lost his mind again, he’d be so lethal that Pete would do just about anything Brendon asked of him. But he only shakes his head at Pete. 

“Neglecting your needs just to watch me must be annoying. You don’t have to lie to me.” Brendon says, voice low and if it weren’t for the look of complete alarm on Spencer’s face, he’d submit at Brendon’s feet. The attention is intoxicating. “Your throat must be burning, and the needles in your veins are probably getting worse. Are you going to have trouble forming complex thoughts soon?” The fog in Pete’s brain vanishes, because Brendon, human Brendon, shouldn’t be able to read minds, but then he’s watching Brendon’s hands reach for the chain around his neck and unclasps it, holding the ring out for Pete. “I’ll be fine when you go. You should have this with you anyway. It’s yours. I don’t need it.” 

Words are seriously hard to form right now as Pete searches the brown of Brendon’s eyes and he’s unsure if this is a trick because Pete can’t remember the last time Brendon had any tells. He forces his stupid throat to make noise. “It’s a gift, Bren. I want you to have it.” 

And Brendon just smiles, this warm, easy thing that makes the corners of his eyes crinkle a bit. Pete needs to stop staring so hard. “Just because I lost mine in the fire, doesn’t mean you have to sacrifice yours. I don’t need it.” 

Pete’s brain breaks and reboots for a moment, not even processing the violent blush and grin that washes over Spencer’s face. Brendon’s thumb presses gently against the column of Pete’s throat before he’s dragged closer and Pete crushes him in a hug. Brendon doesn’t fight, clinging to him with a strained giggle at the pathetic whine Pete makes. “It’s you?” Pete chokes out, and he’s met with Brendon brushing his cheek against his shoulder to scent him. 

“It’s me. I didn’t mean to keep you waiting like that. That was rude of me.” Pete can hear the grin in Brendon’s voice and his chuckle stumbles out his mouth like a shriek. 

“It was so fucking rude of you. Never do it again.” Pete’s grin is toothy and lethal and his brothers aren’t deterred. Pete feels the warmth of Brendon’s arms fill that final void. 

\- 

Pete barters time for is brothers’ request. Despite the steady reminders in off-hand jokes and formal calendar notifications, he milks his terms for every second he’s owed. In the end, living vicariously through his brothers, Pete gets to celebrate 4 years' worth of birthdays with every cliche detail he forces upon them. He accompanies them on several more trips, bears witness to Brendon studying and going through the trials and tribulations of college, and Spencer reconnecting and courting the fearless waitress from the bar. 

His only condition was for them to enjoy the years that were stolen from them at their own pace. Pete had expected a few months of powering through bucket lists at breakneck speeds, but he was there to experience 4 years of that steady domesticity. 

It’s mid-June when Spencer brings it up again. He doesn’t beg. Pete is reluctant and successfully avoids the subject for another 3 weeks until Brendon corners him in the kitchen. He can’t blame Pete for being terrified of turning his brothers, but moving on without him, abandoning Pete when their bodies fail them is not an option. He’s gentle in his request, keeping a firm grip on Pete’s sleeve to prevent him from fleeing. 

“What if...it...what if you still have it? What if I make it worse?” The shame in Pete’s voice is tangible, but Brendon’s heart is steady, his voice the soothing balm. 

“There’s always a risk.” 

And Pete plans meticulously, giving his brothers time to enjoy the last simple pleasures. Spencer nearly eats his weight in lobster macaroni and Brendon spends a solid week in the sun. There are moments when he wants to back out, when Brendon smells like the aloe he applied to his sunburn and Spencer’s repeated instances of comparing Pete to Tom Cruise. Each of Pete’s threats to rip Spencer’s tongue out of his mouth are met with laughter despite his deadpanned delivery. Pete fears that he’ll take away this peace they’ve found along with their heartbeats. After a final weekend in San Francisco, Brendon pulls him aside as Spencer charms the bartender in the dive they found in Haight-Ashbury. Brendon may press a little too close, the liquor a little too strong on his breath, but Pete still holds him upright. 

“I want you to know that you’re not taking anything from us.” Brendon mutters, pulling a stray thread from Pete’s pullover. Pete shakes his head, trying to slide past to the door, but Brendon blocks his path, pressing his shoulder against the wall, and Pete’s instinct is to snap his arm, but Brendon’s hand his gentle. “Dude, we know how you look at us. And don’t think I don’t know that look on your face. We’re asking because you’ve never taken us for granted, and there’s no one we trust more in this world than you.” And Pete would later admit that it was the liquor talking and Brendon had the tendency to ignore personal space when he was shitfaced, but a small fire burned hot in his heart when Brendon hugged him hard enough to break bones. 

His brothers enjoy their last afternoon over a cup of coffee that Spencer feels the absolute need to criticize that it was delivered and not brewed with love in Brendon’s prized French press. Spencer insists on going first, and despite his jokes of age before beauty, the glance he throws Pete says that he has the same reservations about Brendon’s mental health. The years had been quiet. Brendon may have dismissed his disposition as simply having the time to grow up, but the fear hung over them, looming and unspoken. There were no guarantees that Brendon had a clean slate, and that William was once again lying dormant. 

Pete is thankful that the summer heat still lingers after sunset and is almost jealous that his brothers will have the luxury of Southern California weather, and not the freezing sting of Chicago snows. Brendon cradles Spencer’s head in his lap, carding his fingers through his hair as his heart stops. Pete has a bout of panic that he murdered his brother right there on the back deck, but Brendon gives him a warm smile, reassuring him that he did everything right. Spencer lurches in Brendon’s arms when he comes to, groaning as he’s held steady. He reassures Pete that he’s still coherent, but they’ll need to speed this up before he goes on a full-on hunt through Griffith Park. 

Brendon requests it be done on the grass, and he doesn’t resist when his brothers nearly restrain him. He smiles lazily up at Spencer, nodding before Pete goes in for the bite. Pete doesn’t wait for his wrist to heal before he clutches Brendon’s hand between his own to try and chase those last bits of warmth. As Brendon’s heart stops, his scent grows potent, filling Pete’s nose, and he flinches under their arms when he comes to, fighting for breath before his brain catches up with him. When he looks up at his brothers, his eyes are clear, his grin even more blinding. 

There was no pain this time. Nothing to fear and nothing to fight. 

\- 

Brendon digs through the bag of their haul from the general store. Spencer continues to linger at the shop windows, lamenting that he didn’t purchase the driftwood wind chime that night before closing. Pete admires the novelty sweatshirt when Brendon passes it to him, ripping the tag off and pulling it over his head. Brendon digs further into the bag for the fridge magnets. Pete runs his hands over the burnt-orange lettering of Sitka, Alaska printed across his chest, stretching out the hood. 

Brendon scoffs, kicking Pete’s ankle as their legs dangle over the ledge of the dock. “ _Stay Calm and Play Dead_? Did you really have to buy this one?” He holds up the black magnet, brushing his thumb over it. 

“Yes. Spence thought it was hilarious.” Pete wears a smug grin, threading his fingers in his lap. 

Brendon digs further into the plastic bag, searching. “Give me the receipt. I’m returning it.” 

“Not if you can’t find it. That would be a shame.” Pete counters, cackling when Brendon lets out a groan. 

Brendon resigns and shoves the bag between them, nudging Pete’s shoulder. 

Despite a few careless instances of getting caught in the sunrise between connections, the trip up north was smooth. Brendon was eager to capture the change of scenery and snapped the shutter of his camera every chance he got. When the lens was aimed at him, Pete had the courage to face it head on. Brendon never strayed from his brothers’ orbit when they pulled into port, lingering between them as he made small talk with the villagers and drinking up their stories. Pete’s walls continued to crumble when Brendon included him in casual conversation. Spencer remained vigilant, quelling their anxiety that poured from them in rancid waves. With each cordial smile and greeting from the villagers, the knot in Pete’s shoulders eased, and Brendon held his head a little higher. 

Forgiveness was a hell of a drug, Pete thought as he gazed up at the small memorial plaque in the general store, Meagan’s bright smile beaming down at him from behind the framed glass. He finally smiles back at the idea that it’s enough to remember her just as she was. Brendon knelt to take a shot in the harsh fluorescent lights, but he never once cowered from it. Pete fed off of his resolve. 

“I remember what you said all those years ago. Here on the dock.” Brendon says after a moment, humming to the bell of the buoy. Spencer returns and perches beside Pete, leaning back on his hands. 

Pete tilts his head as Spencer glances back, realizing the significance of the spot. “You remember what exactly?” 

Brendon scrubs a hand over his permanent scruff. “Your hands were around my throat. You said I never loved anything. I couldn’t love.” Pete opens his mouth in protest, but Brendon only waves at him dismissively. “I knew you didn’t mean me specifically, but I was still there... I still heard you.” 

Spencer leans against Pete’s side, grounding him as he throws a glance toward Brendon over his shoulder. “I wasn’t...I wasn’t really in my right mind at the time.” Pete mumbles. 

“Yes, you were.” Brendon replies, and his voice is steady, soft. “You had every reason to react that way after what I did, after I let it use me. I heard everything you said, and you were right.” Pete blinks at him. “William only knew pain and control. He could never love. That’s what always separated us.” 

Pete looks at Brendon like he’s been stabbed, this broken, torn expression, and Brendon presses against his side. Spencer closes ranks. “You were in there the whole time.” Pete laments, and Spencer nods against his shoulder. 

“It made us watch every time.” Spencer adds. “What it made me do to Andy and Joe.” 

Pete’s gaze grows distant, the heartbreak washing off of him in sour waves. Brendon grimaces at the stench of it, resting his head against Pete’s shoulder. He wets his lips, searching for the words. “Pete, we’re strong because of you, but you’re stronger than both of us.” 

Pete scoffs, shaking his head. “You’ve had me pinned so many times...” 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Brendon snaps. “That wasn’t me and you know it. Even if I didn’t love you so damn much, I still couldn’t take you.” 

Spencer tilts his head in thought. “And I could barely kick your ass if you were starving and missing both of your arms.” 

Pete casts his eyes to the water beneath his shoes, lapping at the dock in gentle swells. The knowing gazes of his brothers are pulling him from his riptide of thoughts that are carrying him further and further away from them. Brendon threads their fingers, and his hand is neither freezing nor warm, but a reassuring weight, anchoring him back with them. He almost hates the way Brendon’s eyes are clear. The deep browns hide nothing making him so easy to read. Pete begins to melt at the physical contact and his hand jerks to pull away, but Brendon’s hold is secure. Spencer takes his other wrist, cradling it. 

“I've always been nothing without you, Pete. We’ve been nothing without you. But you’ve kept going.” Brendon’s voice reverberates in his ears, and he’s terrified by how pliant he feels. There are numerous horrors he’d commit if they asked now, and he curses himself for being so touch-starved. 

“You didn’t give up on us and we won’t leave you.” Spencer adds. “You won’t be alone.” 

Forgiveness is a hell of a drug, Pete thinks. It’s been decades since he felt his heart beat heavy in his chest, felt the heat of the sun on his back, or the buzz of a good handful of antidepressants. Life has a funny way healing a soul. Pete can attest to the pain and horrors of being dragged through this supernatural shitshow that he sought relentlessly. The wild animal in his heart finally settles, and he thinks perhaps it’s because Spencer wasn’t someone he ever expected to listen to when he couldn’t see through his anxiety and anger and drag him back kicking and screaming from that precipice. Maybe it’s because Brendon is finally safe, having agency over his own life, and yet he still chooses to hang around Pete. 

He’s a fucking disaster, but at least he admits it. 

This controlled chaos is something new. It’s enjoyable. It’s addicting. 


End file.
